Page 3 of Siren in Love (In Love #1)
Mike
~ Mike
Mike decided to leave his car in the driveway.
They were going on a date, after all, and they might have a drink together.
Maybe more than one. Humans, generally speaking, had less tolerance when it came to alcohol, and Corvin didn’t look like much of a drinker.
Mike smiled. If Corvin got tipsy, he’d help him home.
No, that’s too stalkery. I’ll put him in a cab, tell him to be careful and to call me the moment he gets home.
And I’ll pay the driver extra to get him to his door.
If nothing else, Mike had come a long way from his siren ancestors, who were notorious for forgoing the stalking and singing anyone they liked into the waves straight away.
Giddy with anticipation, Mike called an Uber before checking himself over in his bedroom mirror one last time.
It was a warm spring day in New Elvenswood, and Mike had opted for a charcoal gray T-shirt to complement his black hair in the low lighting of the Old Church. He hoped his blue eyes would shine like the ocean at dawn, as his mother liked to say.
With a small plea to his ancestors to make this date a success, Mike Ubered his way to New Elvenswood’s Old Town, where he had to continue on foot.
The old town area was touristy, with its cobblestone streets and winding alleyways, but the Old Church was off the beaten path; the kind of place where you’d find more locals than visitors.
Here, ambitious missionaries had at one point built a church, and because they were so ambitious, they’d built it large enough to accommodate a nightclub.
Mike was pretty sure that hadn’t been their original intent, but in New Elvenswood, with its historically large witch and supernatural population, organized religion had been fighting an uphill battle without even knowing it.
In the end, the church had been sold and repurposed.
The nightclub had revamped itself completely after a change in ownership a year ago.
Mike had been involved as the new owner’s attorney.
Now, it was less about gyrating on the dance floor and more about the live music artists that played here every day.
There was everything from craft beer to champagne on the menu, and their tapas wasn’t half bad either.
After his walk through the dusk-dark streets, Mike took up position outside the large wooden door. Open for Confessions, said a large sign next to the door, speaking to rather a different crowd these days than the original builders had intended.
The exterior was lit up with white and orange spots, bringing out the carved walls and the gaping, staring gargoyles looking down on the faithless.
From inside, music floated out, but so early in the night, it wasn’t live yet.
Mike appreciated the selection though—cellos and violins doing pop and rock songs in a way they hadn’t been intended to, but sounding so, so good.
Five minutes later, Mike turned his head to the left at the sound of footfalls approaching across the cobblestones and found a very handsome Corvin walking toward him. His green eyes found Mike immediately, and the butterflies in Mike’s stomach only got more fluttery when Corvin beamed at him.
Corvin picked up his pace until he stopped right in front of Mike. He wore the same black jean jacket, but tonight, the T-shirt was a cartoon cat with heavily hooded eyes. Coffee or Claws, it said underneath the feline.
“Hi, Pineapple Mike. Are you early or am I late?”
Mike felt the human’s voice ring through him like a snippet of melody that wanted to be an earworm. Corvin’s hair shimmered light copper and gold in the light, and those unruly bangs were still trying to get into his eyes, making Mike want to brush them aside.
“Hi. Let’s say we’re both on time. I’m glad you were free tonight.”
Corvin brushed his hair out of his eyes himself before he spoke, and Mike’s fingers twitched with jealousy.
“You saved me from staying in the archives with the new research librarian and ordering pizza while we geek out over books. By which I mean, I had a fun night planned, but here I am, making time for this pity date. I’m a saint, and you’re taking me to church. ”
“Not a pity date,” Mike said. He heard his own voice drop a little, but he let none of his siren power flow into it.
He wouldn’t use any of his power to get Corvin to feel anything the human didn’t feel purely by virtue of being with Mike.
Not now, not ever. “You’re a librarian? A saintly librarian? ”
Corvin nodded. “Yes, Saint Corvin of New Elvenswood’s University Library. I know, we are a rare and endangered species, but the way some of the professors and TAs treat us, you’d think they don’t know that. So what do you do? Pineapple grower?”
Mike chuckled. “No. Attorney.”
Corvin blinked a few times. “Ah, now the tie makes sense.”
“Tie?”
“The one you were wearing. When you decided to hit on me and offer me your pineapple sherbet. I thought it was a bit much, and I didn’t understand why a tie-toting guy like you was hitting on me. That’s why I assumed it was a pity date. And then when you started talking about pink salt…”
Corvin let his voice trail off. He stole glances up and down Mike’s body, and Mike saw, even though the veil of Corvin’s hair hid it pretty well. Mike liked the other man’s eyes on him, and he hoped Corvin liked what he was looking at.
“Right. I came straight from the office yesterday. They have really good spices at that supermarket, although maybe not the salt. Pink salt is pretty much the same as the white stuff.” He shrugged, meeting Corvin’s eyes and wondering whether talking about the salt was the right move.
I probably shouldn’t. I can’t imagine this is going to make him reevaluate that pity-date theory. “Should we go inside?”
Mike indicated the wide-open doors. String and flute music was flooding outside now—the best the ’80s had to offer reimagined on different instruments.
He was looking forward to seeing how Corvin would react to the live music once that started.
He wondered what rhythms would get the human to tap his feet and move his body.
Mike would memorize them, would hum them when—if!
— when Corvin let Mike get close enough to kiss him.
“Sure thing.”
Corvin walked past Mike, and without really thinking, Mike closed the distance between them and put his hand on the small of Corvin’s back. The human let him, and Mike wanted to hum in relief and triumph.
So far so good. This is going to be a night like a sweet madrigal, with the minors shining brightly and the majors blooming like spring flowers.